Blood In Our Veins
by DarkColdSummer
Summary: "This year, on the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that the rebels caused everyone to suffer from the loss of family members during the Dark Days, all tributes will be a sibling of a previous tribute." SYOT Closed (24/24 Tributes Alive)
1. Legacy Lives On In Me

**_Prologue 1: Legacy Lives On In Me_**

* * *

**_Pandora Striker  
__Victor of the 149th Hunger Games, 15_**

* * *

Pandora Striker had won her Games - the 149th - at the tender age of 14. She hadn't won her Games by brute strength, experience, strategy, training, etcetera - most unlike a typical tribute from 2 - but through her curiosity and sheer determination to succeed, despite how her district had left her for the wolves - literally at that, what with the wolf mutts that tore the head off of the male 9.

The other, much older, much more experienced, much more trained Careers had barely taken a look at her before deeming she wouldn't make it out of the Bloodbath, and when she proved to have the skills to, and afterwards successfully survived the Bloodbath with a kill to her name, it didn't take much for her perfect district partner to actively hunt her down. In all honesty, screw 2, in all its "glory". It's just another puppet of the Capitol.

Her Games had lasted no more than a week, and she had returned home, Victorious, with three kills to her name, yet still very much trapped in the arena.

Which brings her here, by tradition, obligated to mentor the next tribute and guide them to not die, returning home safe and sound. District 2's training centre is packed, as expected and not quite as per usual, everyone eager to hear the Quell Twist. Maybe less eager, and more hopeful that it will increase (for those behind on the list)/maintain (for those at the top of the list) their chances of being the chosen volunteer.

Pandora wonders, much like her namesake, if it's different in other districts - if they hope it reduces their chances of being Reaped instead. Then she tries her best to stop. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. It's part of what caused her to be rigged into the Games without a volunteer to take her place. Couldn't keep quiet and go with the flow, couldn't listen to what the trainers had to say, couldn't keep her head down and slip through the cracks. Sometimes, she wonders which of her many enemies were the ones that rigged her in.

Her Games had been won alone - no one to ally the "hated one", "outlying Career", "what if she's just like the others and stabs you in the back the moment she can?" She had no allies to speak of, no experience with the Careers, nothing. When she heads off to mentor her first - and likely only - tribute, she'll, similarly likely, doom them to a quick death. Maybe she'll pass them off to Polo. He'll do a way better job than her. Then she'll never have to mentor again, and can just live her life in a corner.

There's a buzz around her, everyone - mentor, Victor, potential tribute - talking. The other Victors are excited - too much for her, and she's not even remotely near communicating with them. They don't talk to her anyway - no need for them to mar their reputations.

Perhaps the only company she has worth keeping is Phyllis, the Victor from 7, who won her Games just about 2 years before her own. Phyllis is nice enough, from what she understood during her Victory Tour. They're both about the same age too. If nothing else, Phyllis copes well enough, better than Pandora, obviously. Maybe Pandora will mentor again, just to see Phyllis more often.

Pandora's attention is drawn back to the large screen at the front of the hall, as the current President of Panem, President Evangeline Silver, starts listing off the past Quells. Everyone here in 2 can list them by heart, but Pandora listens anyway.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it." The image on screen divides itself into half, and the one not showing President Silver plays a quick recap on the Reapings of the Victor that year.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." The previous recap of the 25th Games changes to one of the 50th, a quick scene of the Victor's Victory Tour.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes were reaped from their existing pool of victors." This is the first time these Games are truly mentioned in a long while, the Mockingjay's Rebellion falling to pieces the moment their figurehead died in the Bloodbath, the other rebels dying off just as quickly, leaving none other that District 2's Enobaria to return back home once more. There's a scene of Enobaria's brutal victory, the other tribute lying on the ground in front of her, blood gushing from his throat. The Rebellion is only ever thought about, or discussed in low voices at small gatherings.

"On the hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that everyone, regardless of their age, suffered in the Dark Days, the tributes for this Games will be reaped from all age groups." The Victor that year had years of advantage over some other tributes, and had a clean sweep to Victory, returning to District 2 within a week.

"On the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that the rebels initiated violence, every tribute was a volunteer, and the Reapings did not proceed without one." These Reapings were over in seconds in the Career districts, but took way longer to proceed in the outer ones. There's a quick shot of the Victor from 4, who would be mentoring this year too, apparently.

Finally, President Silver picks up the envelope with the neatly written cursive "CL" on it, and unfolds the yellowed paper gently. "This year, on the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that the rebels caused everyone to suffer from the loss of family members during the Dark Days, all tributes will be a sibling of a previous tribute."

And Pandora chokes out a sigh of relief, because she has no siblings, let alone any of Reaping age. There's no way this Quell is going to affect her in many ways, no more than a normal Games.

Then she wonders if Phyllis has any siblings and prays for their safety.

(All the way back in District 7, Phyllis Leif spends the day comforting her many siblings, one, two, three, four. Only the youngest isn't of age. The odds are far from in their favour.)

* * *

_(A/N: Okay. Yay. I'll have a tribute list in the next "Prologue" and on my profile. And well, the form's a bit long, I suppose. But first! Rules!_

_1\. The typical, PM only, no review submissions_.  
_2\. Tributes are allocated on a first-come-first-serve basis, the back-up district part is for me to allocate districts if that slot was taken and you submitted before I could update the list._  
_3\. There's no deadline since it's first-come-first-serve._  
_4\. Please be at least somewhat detailed, so I can write your character somewhat decently. (It also increases your chances of living past the bloodbath!)  
5\. Reviews are appreciated, but not necessary - though if I call for check-ins, I would very much appreciate if you responded.  
6\. Please submit with the title as [Name], [Gender], [District].  
_

_Mhm, the rules will be on my profile as well, along with the form (because you can copy-paste from there, unlike here) and well... As I said, the next chapter will be another "Prologue" with the list of tributes, and after that, I'll move on to the introductions for whatever tributes I have on hand. Well... Let's see how this goes!_

_I know the twist is a bit common, but this... well... Let's just say that I didn't want to have to world-build for mentors and such.)_


	2. Expected Unexpected Expectations

**_Prologue 2: Expected Unexpected Expectations_**

* * *

**_Evangeline Silver  
__President of Panem, 43_**

* * *

President Evangeline Silver has been waiting for a while. The Head Gamemaker is very much late and she has no time for these. The Games this Quell have to be perfect - there's no room for error with a dramatic Twist like this. And to achieve that, Evangeline does need a breathtaking Arena - the building has already been finished, with just the finishing touches left - and more twists in it - which is what she needs to run over with that incompetent tangle of string!

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Evangeline says, voice laced thoroughly with boredom and frustration, and finally, Head Gamemaker Alopius Stringer strides into the room, face flushed and over thirty minutes late.

"Apologies, President Silver," Stringer says.

"Just take a seat. We have much to discuss, and very little time." Her exasperation is quite clearly conveyed as she takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

When the glasses come back on, she gets straight down to business. The final little details are finally hashed out, albeit through a lot of frankly annoying hesitations on Stringer's end and too many slow moments, but the finishing touches are finally done. She leans back in her chair, and observes Stringer's form carefully.

He's tense. Perhaps it's her natural dislike for him acting up, or her natural suspicion of people, or both, but she finds her eyes narrowing.

"What do you think about the Twist?"

"Pardon me?"

Evangeline has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "What do you think about the Twist?" She repeats herself, slowly, firmly, and feeling a lot like she's trying to talk to a two-year-old.

"I think the pre-planned arena compliments it quite nicely," he says, looking very much uncomfortable and clearly sticking with the safe answers. "A twist arena for a Quell Twist."

"I didn't ask about the arena, we've just finalised it," Evangeline finds herself saying, eyes narrowed in a glare. "I'm not going to ask about the mutts or the effects or the outfits of the tributes either. I'm asking about your opinions on the twist." She places emphasis on the word "your" and leans forwards.

He visibly gulps.

"I… believe that," Stringer says slowly. "It will make for a very interesting Games. The people will have favourites from past Games that will likely be reflected in these siblings. They will have a standard to live up to, and it will be quite interesting to see how they align or don't align with those expectations."

It's still quite clearly a scripted answer, and it's nowhere near satisfactory, but Evangeline finds herself chasing Stringer out. His slowness and tardiness always gets on her nerves. She can't stand him.

…Maybe it's time for a change of Head Gamemaker. Besides, in something as dramatic as the Hunger Games, if something is normal and expected, it's no longer good. Having Stringer as the role he's in right now would certainly be expected.

Perhaps the bigger issue at hand would be who to replace him. So far, none of the Gamemakers has appeared to be particularly outstanding - none of them appears to be able to even pull off a halfway decent Games.

Evangeline muses over the issue for a while, settling deeper into her chair. She supposes Stringer, as much as she dislikes him, is still the best fit for the job at the time. Though, she does wonder how much longer that will last.

Then, naturally, she starts planning Stringer's future unexplained disappearance. Maybe it won't happen anytime soon, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

* * *

_**Tributes:**_

* * *

_District 1 Male: Eureka Vesuvio, 15  
District 1 Female: Miracle Weston, 16_

_District 2 Male: Rustin Cobb, 18  
District 2 Female: Kleio Wulfstan, 18_

_District 3 Male: Button Leazer, 18  
District 3 Female: Artemis "Arty" Byrd, 17_

_District 4 Male: Narkis Xylouris, 17  
District 4 Female: Violetta Whitesand, 18_

_District 5 Male: Kano Xanders, 17  
District 5 Female: Paget Feld, 18_

_District 6 Male: __Maximilliam "Max" Cardisy, 15__  
District 6 Female: Kennedy West, 17_

_District 7 Male: Leif Timmer, 14__  
District 7 Female: Cedara Hadley, 17_

_District 8 Male: Taylor Sylver, 14  
District 8 Female: __Micaela Nicole Grybeth, 16_

_District 9 Male: Magnar Larkin, 12  
District 9 Female: __Sita Kulkarni, 14_

_District 10 Male: Colt Canigula, 17  
District 10 Female: Jessamy "Jess" Gray, 15_

_District 11 Male: __Corriander "__Corey" Heenan, 13__  
District 11 Female: Roshni Faroukhi, 15_

_District 12 Male: Rowan Coalson, 12  
District 12 Female: Hestia Byrd, 17_

* * *

_(A/N: Well, there we go! That, thankfully, didn't take too long. It's still a little shorter than I would've liked. Feel free to submit! The form is, once again, on my profile and your local idiot may have forgotten to ask if the tribute is reaped/volunteered. That's been fixed. _

_And I almost forgot! I take reservations, if necessary. I would appreciate if you get back to me within a week, though!)_


	3. Know Who The Enemy Is

**_Interlude 1: Know Who The Enemy Is_**

* * *

**_Layla Timmer  
_****_District 7 Female (144th Games), 15  
Older sister of Leif Timmer_**

* * *

_(Six Years Before the Reapings)_

Layla thinks that things are going pretty well so far, all things considered. Not having any allies kinda sucked there for a bit at the beginning, but she thinks she's done pretty well so far. In fact, she's in the Final Eight!

She wonders how Leif, Lock and her father are doing. Maybe they're watching her right now?

She contemplates waving at them, not that she can see them, but promptly decides against it when she hears footsteps. Whoever's making them is definitely not being anywhere near subtle.

Layla looks around. There's a figure approaching on one side. She can't exactly place her finger on whose it is, but judging by the broad shoulders, they're probably one of the male tributes. There are trees around her, and the area is misty, so she could probably get away with hiding behind one of them, even if she doesn't have time to climb.

Her hand grasps her lone knife tighter. She really doesn't want to have to kill anyone. She hears the footsteps quicken and sees the figure come closer. She notes the spear in his hand. It's obvious at this point that it's Four's male tribute. She swears under her breath, darting through the forest. She's fast - maybe she can gain some distance, then climb a tree?

A quick glance backwards tells her, no. She won't be able to make it. Four - wasn't his name Jesse or something? She remembers thinking he was a girl at first, just by the name - is fast. Maybe even faster than her. Most likely has more stamina than her. Layla knows she lacks stamina, even as she turns back just in time to avoid running into a tree. That would've been embarrassing. Layla Timmer, District 7's female tribute, takes 7th place in the 144th Hunger Games, simply because she wasn't looking where she was going, ran into a tree, and got stabbed by Jesse with a spear.

"Hell no!" A feminine voice yells. "If you want to kill someone, kill me instead!" Layla snaps back, just in time to see Tana? She doesn't know where Five's female tribute came from, but Tana is fighting Jesse. A short sword against a spear is not a good match, particularly if said spear wielder is much more experienced. Still, it doesn't seem like Tana is even remotely trying her best.

Layla hesitates. She remembers Tana inviting her, calmly, into her alliance. She'd told the other that she'd consider it, agreeing to meet in the arena if they made it out alive. She had no intention of allying anyone, honestly. She just didn't want to make an immediate enemy by turning down an alliance. Still, it seems that Tana still believes that they'd be allies. Layla feels just the slightest bit guilty.

That moment of hesitation is all it takes. She has the honour of watching as Tana's eye is gruesomely stabbed out by Jesse's spear, which sinks quite deep into the socket, and a cannon fires instantly, long black hair framing her, even from the ponytail, as she collapses. A blue flower falls from her hair.

* * *

**Tana Xanders, District 5 Female, 16**  
**7th Place in the 144th Games**  
**1 kill(s)**  
**(Older sister of Kano Xanders)**

* * *

Layla decides then and there that she's not going to let Tana die for nothing.

Her hand is still shaking as she wields the knife, but she charges at Jesse with a war cry, praying that she reaches him before he retrieves his spear. She succeeds at that, just barely, but her aim is terrible and her knife sinks into his shoulder, instead of his heart. It doesn't deter her. She pulls out her knife, ready to stab again, but he's retrieved his spear by then.

The spear blocks her next attempt with ease, and she withdraws for a split second, then lunges.

Layla sees the spear pointed at her and - _oh fuck, she miscalculated_.

She feels the spear rip through her insides, and waves her knife around, hoping it strikes somewhere important on Jesse's body, even as darkness overtakes her.

She hopes Leif and Lock are able to deal with her death.

* * *

**Layla Timmer, District 7 Female, 15**  
**6th Place in the 144th Games**  
**0 kill(s)**  
**(Older sister of Leif Timmer)**

* * *

**Jesse Heron, District 4 Male, 18 (currently 24)**  
**1st Place in the 144th Games**  
**7 kill(s)**  
**(Victor of the 144th Games, Mentor in the 150th)**

* * *

_(A/N: Welp! I decided that I want to interlink the characters much more than they already are - so here you get a peek of... Something else. It's not really a character introduction, I know, but... I'm rambling. I dunno. I have this since I somehow decided that writing anything but the actual introductions would be easiest. I'm not kidding. I've written the Reaping Recaps for half the characters I have on hand. _

_Not gonna lie, this was lots of fun to write, even if I'm terrible with fight scenes. I'm looking forward to writing the actual Games now. I also would like to say that I'm sorry to both Tyquavis and jimster920. I clearly took some liberties with your tributes' older siblings. Tell me if I got anything blatantly wrong?_

_Fun fact, Grammarly insists that I should change the line "_she's not going to let Tana die for nothing" _to _"she's not going to let Tana die for anything" _or_ "she's going to let Tana die for nothing"_. It's quite amusing.)_


	4. Just To Crumble And Fall

**_Intro 1: Just to Crumble and Fall_**

* * *

**_Leif Timmer  
_****_District 7 Male, 14_**

_"You wouldn't understand."_

* * *

_(Five Years Before the Reapings)_

It had taken a while for it to sink in.

Because, well, it's Layla, and Layla has (had) always been Layla. Layla has (had) always been beside him and Lock, with her warm hands and calming words. It was always supposed to be the three of them - three siblings - Layla, Leif and Lock. Until it wasn't.

It had been all too fast. One minute, he was being interviewed, along with the rest of his family and a couple of Layla's friends. The next? He's in front of the screen, and images weren't registering. The fight was violent, and watching his sister be speared through the chest was nowhere near child-friendly. Lock next to him on the couch, and their father in front of them - all of them in a hug, but Leif didn't feel anything for a while.

It's okay though. Leif knows how to deal with this. He's dealt with it for a year. Sure, it sucks to have lost every maternal figure in his life, and he won't ever forget Layla, or their mother, but he can deal with it. He knows who to direct this anger at, and it's definitely not anyone in his family, or district.

Though, he thinks, it would be easier to direct his anger at Jesse Herron and only Jesse Herron, if some of his schoolmates could stop rubbing salt into open wounds. He kind of wishes he has his axe.

It's nothing physical, of course, but he's nine, and even he knows that words can hurt much more than fists do.

"Sorry," Leif says, spotting a familiar blond in the crowd. He throws his harassers a wide grin and a pair of finger guns as he slips under and away from them. "Maybe we can continue this another time?"

He takes pride in the confounded expression on their faces, laughing a little to himself as he weaves through the crowd quickly, eyes glued to the familiar figure from before. This is a reaction he's never given them before - every different upbeat response to every attempt at prodding at his insecurities seems to make them less motivated to continue doing so - and he knows that! He wonders how much longer they can keep it up, especially since their material is quite clearly getting old. He thinks he's made it quite clear that any further jokes at the expense of his mother's lack of presence in his life or Layla's spear through the chest will not have any effect on him, anyway.

Leif slips into place next to Ronan, who crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "What now?"

"Nothing," Leif says, throwing a glance backwards. He can't see them anymore. Then he turns back to Ronan, whose gaze is accusing. "Nothing that matters anymore."

"Good," Ronan says resolutely, concern gone as quickly as it came. He looks around quickly, then continues in a much softer tone. "Because your brother and his friend were laughing in a corner and you know I don't like what that means."

.-.

_(One Year Before the Reapings)_

He still thinks about it sometimes. Why he does it is a mystery to even his father - and Braddock is the most important person in his life. He is quite aware that Rhett jokes that it's because he likes the pain. He's also aware that Lock, for all his attachment to his best friend, disapproves of the level of insensitivity portrayed, even if he doesn't quite understand the reason either. He knows Lock would rather forget.

There are days where all he can see in things are the different ways they can be used as weapons, how the entire district could be turned into one. Days where in place of normal, everyday things, he can see a (Jesse Heron's) spear driving clean through a (Layla's) body. Days where the way a tree tumbles reminds him of a (Layla's) limp body collapsing.

He's not really sad on any of those days. Not in the way that he knows Ronan thinks he is, because Ronan's experiences have left him just a bit jaded and with a chance to jump to the worst conclusions before anything else. Leif is sad, of course he is, because that's his sister, after all. At the same time, there's fear and an obsession (Ronan calls it a "hyper-fixation", along with all the other big words he uses) on things that he knows he really shouldn't be worried about but he is anyway. (Ronan calls that "paranoia" too.)

It's the year of the 149th Games, but he still can't rid himself of the memories from the 144th.

Today is one of those days, when he gets out of his room in the morning and switches on the fan. He knows that the thing falling around him and making a mess of the living room is probably confetti, probably courtesy of Rhett and Lock, but all he can see is blood spraying from an open wound.

Still, his nerves have been shot, so he darts back into his room with the intention of not coming back for a while.

Leif is cleaning off the confetti when there's a knock on the door. "Come in," he says. The knock is recognisable, of course - firm and loud, but not loud.

Obliging, the door cracks open, and his father looks in. "Lock would like to say sorry, but Rhett is allowing him none of that remorse."

"Really?" Leif asks. "Because I know Lock and Lock would never say that."

"You're right," Braddock concedes. "But he does have that kicked puppy look on his face that means he wants to say sorry, and Rhett is stopping him from remotely thinking about it."

Leif laughs at that. It certainly sounds about right.

"They've cleaned up the mess," his father says. It's a peace offering, and he nods. "Ronan's outside looking for you and glaring warily at Rhett."

He rolls his eyes but stands up from his place on the bed. His best friend's presence is the clincher - his father knows him too well it catches him off guard sometimes.

The living area, true to word, is devoid confetti. Lock and Rhett appear, well, locked in a non-verbal argument, Ronan seated on the couch a distance away, suspicion in his eyes. Leif passes the younger duo, patting his brother on the head. "Don't get into trouble."

Lock huffs at that, and sends him the kicked puppy apologetic look. "We don't get into trouble that much."

"Sure…" Ronan cuts in, before Leif grabs him and heads out.

If he didn't know better, he would've said Ronan almost looked worried for him!

* * *

**_Rustin Cobb  
_****_District 2 Male, 18_**

_"I'm gonna be honest, I'm a lover, not a fighter."_

* * *

_(Six Months Before the Reapings)_

Rustin isn't quite sure about how he feels of the Quell Twist. It's certainly different, as with all Quell Twists, and he can imagine Capitol being quite excited about this. Still, he is certainly not from Capitol. He is, however, someone from District 2 - the District that's most known for its bloodthirsty Career tributes - so he stands at the board and runs through the list of current rankings. He's of the oldest batch this year, and he certainly is within the top 15. He's not quite sure if there're any siblings of previous tributes in the mix, but so far things aren't looking good for him.

He offers a good stare at the list, then turns away, walking down the corridor to the spear section. He doesn't want to, per se, but at this point? It's practically expected of him. At least with the spears, he's doing something that he likes doing. If he's going to have to do this, might as well be doing a version of it that he enjoys, right?

"You're pitiful," he hears someone sneer, and he stops in his tracks for a split second. It's certainly not directed at him, but he doesn't like the person's tone. Changing course in the direction of the mockery, he listens closer. "If you can't even lift a sword, how do you think you'll be able to do anything more?"

"What was that?" Someone else mocks. "That pathetic swing isn't going to do anything."

"No," the first voice laughs. "It's quite effective actually. His opponents might laugh themselves to death."

"Hey," Rustin says, turning upon the scene in the sword section. "Leave him be."

There's a group, crowded around a relatively smaller figure, and they part to face him. The boy that they're mocking is pretty average, with jet black hair and scared brown eyes, curled up against the wall like that would stop their words from hitting him. The group around him glances at each other and do as he told them to. It isn't often that Rustin appreciates how intimidating he can be, but he is glad for it in situations like this. He strides forwards and kneels down.

"Are you okay?" He asks, offering a hand.

The boy stares at him with wide eyes. "I- Uh-"

"Did they hurt you?" He presses, after it's clear the boy is panicking.

"N-No!" He squeaks, taking Rustin's hand awkwardly. Rustin offers him a small smile. "I'm good! I think."

"I'm Rustin," he says, helping the boy up. "And you?"

"I'm Mason," Mason says, looking away. "Uh. Sorry! For holding you up! I'm sure you have many better things to do than this."

"No, it's fine!" Rustin says, then watches as Mason fidgets uncomfortably. A thought strikes him. "Do you want to come with me? We can practice with spears together."

Mason looks at him like Rustin has saved his life and Rustin can feel his heart go out to the younger boy.

.-.

_(One Week Before the Reapings)_

"Are you okay?" Nolan asks lowly from next to him.

Rustin wants to scream. Of course, he doesn't have it in him to scream like this in public in front of so many people, so he just kind of. Lets it be. "Yeah, I'm good."

He'll probably end up spending the next week or so doting on Ashton and Mason and all the other younger kids he's befriended. Wow, he really doesn't want this. Not a single bit. He contemplates not following up at all, but then he thinks of the consequences he's sure to get when he returns from the Reapings without ending up as a tribute despite being the chosen volunteer. It's not going to be very happy, he knows as much. And the rest of the district would likely be even worse.

Nolan gives him a sceptical look. Rustin raises an eyebrow at the rest of the people surrounding them, crowding around the final name list. Nolan nods in understanding.

The walk back home is heavy, tired. No words are needed to be exchanged. They exchange soft goodbyes as they split paths, heading in different directions. Rustin appreciates Nolan and his constant presence in his life, he really does, but there's no way that Nolan can help him much here.

"I'm home," Rustin calls. He kicks off his shoes at the front door, and looks up just in time to receive an armful of Ashton.

"Rustin!" Ashton grins, pulling back from the embrace. "Mason came by just now. He said to wish you good luck!"

"Right," Rustin can feel his smile slipping away at that reminder. Ashton, ever perceptive, notices it right away.

"Are you okay, Rustin?"

He is reminded of Nolan, for just a split second, before he focuses back on Ashton. "I'm good," he says vaguely, getting quite a bit of déjà vu. He hesitates, staring off into the distance. "I need to talk to mom and dad."

Ashton winces at that, and Rustin can't fault him. He's quite aware that every time he talks with his parents, or even just his father, it ends up with the two parties butting heads. "I think they're in the study."

"Thanks," Rustin says, then, desperate to lighten the mood, ruffles his brother's hair, much to the latter's distress. "How about we do something together after I talk to them?"

Ashton visibly lights up at that, and bounds off to their room. Rustin stares fondly after him, then less fondly in the direction of the study room.

What hurts more likely won't be the rejection he's faced all these years due to his warm personality, but rather the celebration this news he's brought back is sure to bring.

* * *

**_Jessamy "Jess" Gray  
_****_District 10 Female, 15_**

_"If you talk to me for too long, I'm going to get distracted by something shiny and wander off into the woods, never to be seen again."_

* * *

_(Three Years Before the Reapings)_

Jess likes to think that she's lived a generally calm life. Her life is literally so calm, it borders on boring, which is a pity.

Still, that's only what she likes to think. Since her brother - twin brother, at that - was Reaped into the Games, her life actually seems anything but normal. Sure, this happens every year to 24 families across Panem, but she never once stopped to think about what it would be if it happened to her - if she were one of the families affected.

It's incredibly unlikely. She and Kaleb are only 12, after all. They both had one slip each in the Reaping Bowl, and see absolutely no need to take any tesserae. Yet somehow, against all odds, she finds herself seated in front of the television, getting ready to watch her brother go through the Games.

Last night brought the screening of the Pre-Games Interviews. Kaleb had been as charismatic as always, and always acting more mature than his age. Jess had almost cried. It'd barely been half a week, yet she'd still missed her brother.

People often say that twins have this mystical connection and they weren't too wrong when they said that. It had, of course, always been Jess and Kaleb. Jess wants Kaleb to win. She wants Kaleb to come back home, so they can both live together for the rest of their days. If Kaleb comes back, victorious, he'll never have to worry about entering a Hunger Games for the rest of his teenage-hood, unlike other boys. The only worry will be Jess. The odds will be in their favour, especially since Jess doesn't have tesserae. The other girls with tons of tesserae taken will likely be the tributes.

The odds screwed them over once, what's the chance of it screwing them over again?

She watches the television in anticipation. There's a quick recap of the training score, some scenes from training days, and finally, finally, it shows the arena.

24 tributes stand on their plates, the city arena around them, and the 60-second countdown begins. Jess isn't even in the arena, but she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. It's not exactly unpleasant, but it does make her want to punch something. Maybe this is how the Careers feel about the Games.

Eh, she doesn't think she'll like feeling this way all the time.

5 seconds.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Jess watches as Kaleb runs to the Cornucopia and grabs a pack and some knives, even as some other tributes hesitate. He dashes out again, ready to weave through the city streets and alleyways and possibly into a building. A cannon fires, but it's not her brother, so neither cares. Jess knows the plan, she can feel it running through her, strong as the adrenaline and pounding through her head.

Then she can't, every sense going numb. Her brother is gutted by District 1's male tribute, and he collapses, slowly, first onto his knees, then face-first, as the cannon - his cannon - fires.

.-.

_(Six Months Before the Reapings)_

"You have got to stop wandering your way into weird places and doing weird things," Bodhi says to her, after finding her attempting to climb up someone's roof.

"I can't help it," Jess tells her best friend. "I really can't. Some people can just be so boring sometimes."

Bodhi raises an eyebrow sceptically at her.

"Sorry. Most people can just be so boring all of the time," she corrects, almost smugly.

"That's not what I meant," Bodhi turns away, laughing. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah," Jess concedes. "I do."

They continue walking in silence for a while, Bodhi shifting uncomfortably.

"What is it?"

"How do you feel about," Bodhi gestures awkwardly at the air. "The Quell?"

"Should I feel anything about the Quell?"

"The pool of people that can be Reaped have been narrowed down quite a lot. The odds aren't remotely in your favour, Jess."

Jess blinks blankly at him. "Wasn't the Quell something about siblings?"

"Yeah, tributes this year will have had siblings from a previous Games."

"…And why does that affect me, exactly?"

Bodhi stares at her like she's grown a second head. "Of course that affects you! Do you not remember Kaleb?"

"What about him?" Jess says, even as she feels a sinking feeling in her gut. She knows she's shut off thinking about how Kaleb's doing. She knows that. Kaleb ran away, leaving her alone. There's a reason she doesn't like thinking about Kaleb, even if he's her twin. If he wants to be an asshole and never contact her again, that's his problem. She tried - she really did - but he never responded.

Her best friend gives her a pitiful look, which does not remotely help that feeling in her gut. "Jess… What do you think happened to Kaleb?"

"He ran away," Jess says, uncomfortably, blandly. "Isn't that obvious?" Then, as the silence grows: "Can we change the topic?"

Bodhi doesn't look at her.

"You have something to say."

Bodhi still won't look at her.

"Just spit it out already!" Her gut twists, violently. Gut. She remembers something about knives in a gut. And red.

(It's not called a bloodbath for nothing.)

"Jess… Kaleb died in the 147th Games."

(And, of course, it doesn't matter that Jess spent years compartmentalising everything. Bodhi means well, he always does, and Jess needs to think about it, but that doesn't mean she wants to, per se. She'd very much like to live her life in ignorant bliss, rather than remember the look on Kaleb's face as he bled to death.)

* * *

**_Colt Canigula  
_****_District 10 Male, 17_**

_"Don't… Talk to me."_

* * *

_(One Year Before the Reapings)_

Colt is not a people-person. In fact, he liked it much better when he wandered around with Lynx, just the two of them, looking for animals to trap. Lynx is just about the only person he's good around, and that's because he's spent pretty much his entire life with her.

"What's your name?" The interviewer asks.

He stares past her and all her cheerfulness and answers lowly. "Colt."

Of course, at this point, he's pretty sure the whole of District 10, if not the whole of Panem, knows his name. He would've sincerely preferred otherwise.

His eyes aren't anywhere near focused at the interviewer or the camera. All he wants to look at is the screen in the main area of District 10, where the Games are constantly playing on. The scene is currently fixated on Lynx, which is quite ironical, seeing how he's literally being interviewed about her right now.

"And you are related to Lynx Canigula in what way?" She prompts.

Colt shifts uncomfortably at the crowd around him, both from the Capitol interviewing crew and from what feels like the rest of District 10. Maybe the Capitol crew don't quite understand the significance here, but the rest of District 10 sure does. He doesn't talk. He and Lynx appear when they think they're needed, and even then, Lynx is the talker. Even so, no one in the District knew either of their names. It was their thing. Their names belonged to them, not anyone else. No one could take it away from them.

"I'm her brother," he shrugs, wishing that it were Lynx here instead. She'd always been much better at dealing with people than him. She'd also probably deal with this whole situation better than him. Though, having neither of them in the Games would've been ideal.

"How do you feel about her chances of winning?"

He's proud of her for getting into the Final Eight. He knows that Lynx's traps are good, not to brag, since he taught her most of it and all. He likes her chances of returning home. He says none of that, and settles for a slightly nervous "Good."

"Who do you two live with?"

"Each other."

"Is there anyone else in your lives that you're close to?"

"No."

"What do you two do?"

"Hunt."

That particular pair of question and answer is especially ironic, since the screen has since switched focuses. It is focused on the District 1 male tribute for the year - hell if Colt knows what he's called - and it's clear, even if he hadn't declared his intention earlier to a crowd he couldn't see, that he is hunting for tributes.

"Could you elaborate on that?"

Colt shrugs. There's nothing much to it - hunting is hunting after all. Either you are the hunter or you are the hunted. He and Lynx have always been the hunters, and even that much is obvious by the way Lynx has left little traps all over the arena, wherever she goes. A series of wire and sticks to make snares, little pitfalls - some merely as an annoyance, others with sharpened sticks at their bottoms - some woven string to make simple nets here and there to trap people…

"Do you have anything you want to say to her?"

He takes a second to look directly at one of the cameras. Yes. He wants her to know that he's always behind her, that he'll always be supporting her, even if she can't see. He pushes aside the overwhelming urge to run away and prepares to say something, but the sound of a cannon firing and a flash of red in the scene on the screen catches him mid-word. "She-"

She died. _Lynx can't be dead._

In the five seconds he had looked away to get ready for the camera, his little sister died. He doesn't even know exactly how it happened, if Lynx put up a fight, if Lynx saw him coming, if Lynx let herself die, but with Lynx's cleanly beheaded body and One's bloody sword, he can piece together the basics of what happened. _Lynx can't be dead._

He glances between the camera, the screen and the people around him. There's too many, and though the cameramen and the interviewer haven't noticed yet, he knows some of District 10 definitely have. They're looking at him differently now, like they've got to be careful around him, like he's going to shatter if they push too hard. _Lynx can't be dead._

He turns, pushes through the crowd, and runs.

He runs and his heart is pounding all the way up to his throat and- _oh no they're coming for him, they're gonna ask questions about Lynx but he won't be able to answer them because Lynx is dead and he'd never been very good at talking to people in the first place, he can't deal with them, not now, likely not ever, will they leave him alone? Without Lynx, is he still anything anymore? _

The scenery, or lack thereof, in his District fly by as he keeps running. _He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to think about Lynx's death. He doesn't want to believe that Lynx is dead. _

Colt has experienced sweaty hands before this (mostly when trying to talk to people), but this time, his palms are so damp, he could probably let an animal drink off him, and that would be more than enough. _Why did Lynx have to die? Lynx had always been sweeter, always been nicer, always been the one people liked better. Even if he'd been the one Reaped and dead instead of her, she'd cope better than him, maybe live a better life than he'd ever been able to give her. _

Maybe if he runs fast enough, runs far enough, he'll be able to outrun Lynx's death.

* * *

_(A/N: Well! Thank you to Tyquavis for both Leif and Rustin, A Proud Bibliophile for Jess and Professor R.J Lupin1 for Colt! Also, a quick thank you to everyone who's reserved, submitted, favourited, followed, or reviewed so far, along with a reminder that reservations last for a week, no more. I'll give the benefit of doubt due to time zones (GMT +8.00 is quite ahead of most other places, after all), but that's it. And I do keep track. If you need a time extension, ask for it.)_


	5. How's It Feel, Sitting Up There?

**_Intro 2: How's It Feel, Sitting Up There?_**

* * *

**_Violetta Whitesand  
_****_District 4 Female, 18_**

_"You must be the one who betrays."_

* * *

_(Two Years And One Month Before the Reapings)_

Violetta thinks her relationship with Matteo is normal, thank you very much. No sibling relationship is complete without some level of rivalry, after all, especially in a Career district like hers. Sibling rivalries here are taken to extremes, each trying to outdo the other in terms of the Games. Sibling relationships in these districts are strained, everyone knows that. She knows that.

Still, she thinks that this, this might break it once and for all.

It had started small, of course. Everything starts small. Little things, like Matteo running a little faster than her. Moving up, gripping the spear a little better than her. Graduating from spear to trident sooner than her. Mastering the trident before her.

Getting chosen as Volunteer for the Games before her.

"Are you kidding me?" She yells. All eyes turn to her, of course. She's the only one crazy enough to do something like this, especially in front of what's essentially the whole academy.

"Jealous, sister dear?" Matteo asks, grinning a little too widely for Violetta's liking.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah right. The only reason you're up there instead of me is that everyone has eyes on you instead of me." She's marching forwards, through the crowd gathered in front of the stage. "If you stopped forcing me to hide in your shadow for one second, people would actually notice me!" Her eyes are narrowed singularly on her target. "I would've been on that stage instead of you, instead of literally no one knowing my name!"

And it's true. She can hear the murmuring around her, going: "Matteo has a sister?"

"Twin sister!" She finds herself snapping at the nearest person who said that - a boy no taller than her nose. Hand twitching, she finds herself longing for a spear. Oh, the ways she could hurt everyone here for doubting her. "I'm not just his sister, I'm his twin sister!"

And she doesn't even need a spear, walking up to the boy and straight-up punching him in the face. The crowd around her, already keeping a distance, takes a step back. She walks back to the foot of the stage.

"Maybe you're not good enough," Matteo says, walking forward from his place on the stage next to the Head Trainer. He kneels down, but due to the height granted by the stage, he's still very much taller than Violetta standing in front of him. "Tell me, if you needed to punch someone to prove a point, what does that say about you?"

"Maybe you used underhand methods to get here," Violetta says, similarly. "Tell me, how many times did you have to steal the spotlight off of me just to get noticed?"

Matteo laughs, and Violetta can feel her anger bubbling and spiking.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up! We'll see who's still laughing when you come home in a casket!"

Violetta turns and stomps towards the exit. The crowd parts around her, letting her walk through towards the doors, clearly not wanting a repeat of the boy getting socked in the face.

She throws one last glance back at the hall, looking at Matteo's outraged face, and the boy at the corner, nursing an icepack over his right eye. Good.

Turning back, she leaves.

She hates her brother, she really does.

.-.

_(One Month Before the Reapings)_

She made it.

It'd taken her a year to prove her worth after Matteo went and got himself killed, not even getting into the Final Four. Oh, she had kept her word, laughing when he came home in a casket, much to the infuriation of her parents. There was, however, a spike of something that she refused to name and refused to acknowledge.

Though, Matteo's death at 16 had taught the Training Centre that they should stick to sending out 18-year-olds, as far as possible.

It didn't matter. She no longer had a shadow to live under. She excelled at everything, now that trainers actually paid attention to her instead of Matteo. She was the top in the Training Centre for two years straight, even with the 18-year-olds having both an age and, frankly, time advantage over her. Going unnoticed all those years put her at a disadvantage, but she overcame it.

She is the superior Whitesand, after all.

So the time came, the Quell was released, the volunteers were picked.

Violetta Whitesand stood on the same stage - the same one she predicted her brother's death in front of all those years ago - with her rightful role as Volunteer.

Granted, the Quell still put her in her brother's shadow, what with him making it to 5th place and all, but she made it. If she won the Games, she'd not only be known as the Victor of the Quell, but also better than her brother. Even if her brother had won, all he'd be would be a normal Victor.

She could do it.

She could make it.

She'd been the clear volunteer for the past two years. She'd excelled at any weapon thrown her way. She'd been the best, the crème de la crème. She'd worked hard for this, damnit.

Screw her mother, for thinking Matteo better than her. Screw her father, for that too. In fact, screw all the trainers in this stupid Training Centre!

Her grin is dangerously sharp, as she eyes her district partner. She doesn't know him, has never heard of him, and doesn't care for him. He's just another obstacle in her way of proving her superiority.

"All the best for the Games," she tells him, a smirk on her mouth, a certain sharpness in her eyes.

If anything, she'll be the first to sign up to kill him.

* * *

**_Kennedy West  
_****_District 6 Female, 17_**

_"Life has no limitations, except the ones you make."_

* * *

_(Seven Years Before the Reapings)_

"Boo!"

Owen startles, snapping his book shut, and Kennedy laughs, because Owen always has the best reactions to her surprises. She straightens herself out and hops down from her perch upside down of the couch.

"Whatcha' reading?" She asks, settling herself next to him and peering over at the pages.

"A book," Owen huffs, batting her hair away from where it covers the words. "Lemme read in peace, Kenn'dy."

"Ha ha," Kennedy says, blandly and sounding nothing like an actual laugh. Then, she jumps up, and tugs on her twin's arm. "C'mon! If we head out now we could still watch the sunset! It seems like it's gonna be a nice one!"

Wordlessly, Owen retrieves his hand from his sister and gestures at the window, which happens to be facing the setting sun quite nicely.

Kennedy crosses her arms and pouts. "You kno-ow the view's better near the train tracks."

"Do I?"

"Owen!"

Said brother takes his time to laugh at his sister's frustrations, Kennedy watching on, every bit as mature as a 10-year-old is. He takes his time standing up, looking carefully at the book in a manner that Kennedy knows as him memorising the page number. Then, finally, he closes the book and puts it on the counter. "Let's go," he says, grinning at her. "We can still make it if we head out now."

Kennedy mock-frowns at the way he turns her words against her. "No thanks to you," she says, striding out the door.

"You know I was joking!" Owen calls, running after her. "Don't be like that!" He falls into place next to her and links their arms.

The only thing Kennedy can offer him is a lighthearted, lopsided smile. They've spent all ten years of their lives together, so surely they know each other better than that.

Together, they make their way across the square and towards the train tracks to watch the sunset. Kennedy knows Owen hates the silence, so she enables his small talk, no matter how much she dislikes it.

"Y'know the Games this year?"

"What about them?"

"'pparently, the female tribute this year has a brother."

"No way," Kennedy gasps, sounding every part scandalised and feeling absolutely none of it.

"Yeah, right? So, the brother's a complete asshat-" Kennedy cuts in to make a dramatic gasp at the swear. "-and also somewhat a genius, but since his sister died in the bloodbath he's apparently become less of an asshat."

"A beautiful ending."

"It got me thinking," Owen hesitates, and Kennedy jumps to fill in the crack of silence.

"Thinking what?"

"What happens if one of us goes into the Games?"

There's a silence, and Owen looks uncomfortable as they walk.

"It won't happen," Kennedy says, the words slipping as easily off of her tongue as one of the many jokes in her repertoire. Still, the ghost of their weight lies there still, heavy and slightly suffocating, so she continues. "There'll be so many names in the bowl, and we'd only be a portion by the time we join. Even with our tesserae - which we will definitely need - even with that and compared to many others, the odds will be in our favour."

"But what if it does?" Owen presses. "What if the odds turn out not to be in our favour? What if I enter the Games, or you enter them? What then? What happens to us?"

Kennedy untangles their arms and grabs his hand, pulling on it to guide him to sit on the abandoned railroad. "Then we deal."

The sunset today feels heavy, even with how nice it looks.

Kennedy has a distinct feeling that she just jinxed them both.

_.-._

_(Seven Months Before the Reapings)_

Kennedy hums a little tune under her breath. It's a short little tune, one that pretty much everybody knows, with about as many syllables in the lyrics as there are alphabets. She doesn't sing any of the words to the song, weaving through a small crowd with her head down.

She knows that people are looking at her, concerned. It's only been a couple of weeks or so after she did a 180 from the wreck she'd been after Owen's death. She knows that people are still concerned for her mental wellbeing, which, Kennedy admits quietly to herself, they have plenty of cause to.

It's still a little earlier than she'd estimated it to be when she sis by the newly renovated train tracks carefully. Once upon a time, when they hadn't been remade, reconstructed, she remembers coming often with Owen, watching the sunset.

There's nothing for her to do, and as much as she would like to maintain the quiet, she knows that Owen hated it. So she keeps humming the little tune, hoping that Owen can hear her, wherever he is. He would've been 17 today, like she is now, had he not passed in his Games.

She remembers a sunset, about 7 years ago, where she told her brother that they'd deal if either entered the Games. That the chances were so astronomically low that they didn't even need to worry much about the former.

Clearly, her past self had no clue about what the future would entail.

Still, Kennedy forces herself to stay upbeat. Surely it can't get any worse from here out!

So she sits by a newly renovated railroad, with a newly dropped and newly created mask, with old memories and old thoughts and old ghosts in her mind, humming the tune to "Happy Birthday" to herself and someone who will never hear it.

The sunset today feels heavy, even with how nice it looks.

Kennedy has a distinct feeling that she just jinxed herself.

* * *

**_Rowan Coalson  
_****_District 12 Male, 12_**

_"I'd wish good luck to my competition, but seeing as they're out to kill me…"_

* * *

_(Two Years Before the Reapings)_

If you asked anyone around town, Rowan Coalson is a perfectly friendly kid, maybe with a little soft spot for pranks, but a nice kid nonetheless.

"Hey, kid!"

"Not a kid! I'm ten! And a half!"

Who, quite clearly, does not like being called a kid.

"Okay, ten-and-a-half not-kid," Ashley says, placatingly, tugging his hand gently. "We don't have to pick any fights, Rowan."

"I'm not picking any fights," Rowan huffs, frowning, then turning to point at the teenager who called him a kid. "They started it."

"And I ended it," Ashley says, punctuating herself with a poke to his nose. Rowan reels back and shakes his head like a dog doused in water. He takes the opportunity to look back at the teen, her friends appear to be chiding her for something. They send apologetic looks at him, and there's something in the way they're looking at him that makes him sorely uncomfortable. He turns back to Ashley. (Rowan knows what it is, it's sympathy. He's seen enough of it since-)

"Now, time to head back home."

Rowan maintains his frown and turns away from his surrogate older sister, again. It's not that he dislikes her, per se, Ashley takes care of him plenty when his Ma isn't home - which is quite often, seeing how she has to work hard to support the both of them. So it's not so much that he dislikes Ashley, it's just that he doubts her sometimes. Does she only do this out obligation to…?

Well, that's one question that she knows he'll never ask and he knows she'll never answer.

"Come on, Rowan."

"Coming!" Rowan says, scampering next to Ashley and blowing a raspberry at her.

He may not like being called a kid, but that says nothing about how much of a kid he acts like.

"We should've been home an hour ago."

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault!"

.-.

_(Six Months Before the Reapings)_

"I promise I'll come back!"

Three-pronged, sharp edges, darkness, night, hunt, prowl, find, _(runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun)_ red, blood-

**Boom**.

Rowan wakes up, limbs tangled with the covers of his bed - fortunate enough to have a proper bed to sleep in at night. Nights in District Twelve can be cold, depending on who you ask. Rowan himself is fortunate enough to be able to afford all these. Fortunate but all that wasn't enough to keep her alive-

He takes in a deep breath. Holds it, for a couple of seconds. Breathes out.

Sunlight is peeking through the windows, bright but not too bright, and the birds are already chirping. It seems to be a nice enough day out, though Rowan can't really tell, what with the curtains drawn and all. He decides he doesn't want to stay in his room any longer, not with-

He shakes his head rapidly in an attempt to clear the train of thought, then proceeds to get ready for the day.

His Ma shouldn't be out yet, should still be asleep. He can sneak out and come back without alerting her or Ashley. He just has to hope the townsfolk won't rat him out.

He nods to himself as he leaves his house. Yeah, that's the plan.

Rowan offers cheerful grins and waves hello to about everyone he comes across. Almost everyone waves back, even Mr Byrd, who is normally too lost in his own world to even think about responding, and Mrs Flint, who lives nearby and mostly spends her time glaring at her newspaper, even smiles at him! Maybe his wake-up call might not have been the best, but this day is turning out to be pretty nice!

Still, his plan, quite clearly, falls apart at the seams, quite literally, when he hears whimpering coming from the alleyway near the other carpentry on the outskirts of the Seam.

He knows his Ma tells him not to go into any random alleyways, but curiosity gets the better of him. He slips in, and there's… nothing?

Then there's something, because apparently his observational skills might need a bit of work.

It's a brown lump of fur - a dog, probably, Rowan's seen enough stray cats around to know that that, whatever it is, isn't a cat, thank whatever higher power there is - curled up in a corner between buildings.

And well, Rowan's Rowan and he has what Ashley calls "an unsatisfiable need to be nice to everyone" that most of his District would agree with anyway, so he goes further in, and tries to befriend the lump of fur, rather awkwardly, for him.

"Hey there! Are you okay? You don't seem okay? Do you need help? Do you have a name or an owner or anything else that you can be identified by?"

And, well, Rowan knows he's a lot more eloquent normally but that's with people! People, he has experience with. Animals? Not so.

That's when the dog - really just a puppy, and a rather undernourished one at that - has uncurled itself and is looking at him.

"Hello," he offers, much slower this time, along with his hand. The puppy gets up, sniffs his hand and curls up at his feet. "Aww." He checks, carefully this time, for fear of missing out, but there's no collar, no sign that the puppy ever belonged to anyone else. "I'm gonna call you Drift!"

They stay there together for a while, before Rowan finally remembers that he should probably get going back home if he wants to reach there before his Ma wakes up. He stands up. "Sorry Drift, but I should probably get going."

It whines, even as he steps away.

When he looks back, Drift is literally at his heels. "Uh… It was nice to meet you? But it's time for me to go or my Ma will get worried."

He takes a few steps. Drift takes the few steps with him. "This has been fun, but I really really have to go now."

He takes another few steps. Drift whines, and Rowan feels himself cave. He bends down and picks Drift up, holding the puppy to his chest. "Alright Drift, you can come home with me." Drift licks his cheek appreciatively.

Rowan looks around quickly, then decides on the quickest path back home, instead of the scenic route he took before.

For some inane reason, the "quickest path" turns out to be not so quick at all, because the town square is packed. Seriously, is there a wedding that he's not aware of or something? But then he sees the Capitol seal on one of the screens and he stops short. (Not literally. Well, yes literally, since he's pretty short for his age but that's not exactly the meaning right now.)

Rowan doesn't quite understand what a "Quarter Quell" is but as President Silver reads from the newest envelope instead of her script, he can feel a sinking feeling in his chest.

"This year, on the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that the rebels caused everyone to suffer from the loss of family members during the Dark Days, all tributes will be a sibling of a previous tribute."

Well, guess this day isn't turning out to be pretty nice after all.

* * *

**_Artemis "Arty" Byrd  
_****_District 3 Female, 17_**

_"I'm the most talkative person you'll ever meet."_

* * *

_(Two Months Before the Reapings)_

"Do you ever not wear a beanie?"

Arty reaches up and adjusts her - currently red - beanie self-consciously. Then, she crosses her arms. "It's less that I don't wear it and more that you're not worthy of seeing me with my hair down, Liza."

"Sure, Artemis," Liza says, rolling her eyes. "Save it for whatever girl you get in your bed tonight." Somehow, she manages to make "girl" sound like the worst insult there is, despite being one herself. "If you can even get any. Everyone in the district knows your track record with that."

Arty tries not to let Liza's words affect her, she really does. Sure, she's faced her fair share of homophobia, and between Liza and Mei, she's probably heard every combination of homophobic insult that exists, subtle or blunt, underhand or in her face, behind her back or to her face. But the fact that she's been out of the closet for about six years now, and yet somehow, she _still_ hasn't ever met someone remotely interested in her? That's a sore spot, and Liza knows it.

She knows it and isn't above exploiting it.

It's funny that Liza knows that much about her. They aren't even remotely near acquaintances.

Their relationship is more along the lines of… complete and utter enemies, on two completely different wavelengths.

Simply put, Arty and Liza do not get along. At all.

"You're deflecting and going off tangent," Arty says, after taking a while to gather her bearings. "You never answered my point and instead brought up a whole new one. Hey!" She forces herself to at least look like her face lights up. "Are you agreeing with me? Aw, you really didn't have to, but I always knew you had a soft spot for me-"

"Why would I ever lower myself to agree with the likes of you-"

"There's no need to fight with Liza today, Arty," Melissa tells her, lowly, drowning out the rest of Liza's argument.

"But Melissa-"

"No buts," her best friend tells her, dragging her by the wrist. "We're going. There's no point fighting with the likes of her. You know that."

Arty glowers, but she knows, as Melissa mentioned, that Liza isn't really worth her time, so she turns to leave.

"I always knew you spoke more than you meant, _Artemis_," Liza says, turning her name into a mockery. "But running away from a losing argument without even admitting defeat? Trying to retain a semblance of your dignity? I wonder what people will say. You know how the rumour mill works-"

Now, Arty is normally all for words but sometimes? Sometimes, some people are too dense for words to have any impact.

She shakes off Melissa's grip, turns, smiles politely at Liza and punches who most would call her "nemesis", right in the face.

.-.

_(The Day of the Reapings)_

"Morning sweetie!"

Arty groans at her mother's cheeriness. It's too early for it. "Morning Mei," she says, pouring a cup of coffee for herself. Of course, she doesn't quite need it? Today's Reapings are - thanks to the Quell Twist - a break in between her years of Reaping eligibility. It's one more year she gets to be safe. She gets to sleep in today because there's no school, and unlike past years, nerves don't keep her awake through the night. She has no need to be nervous, after all, unlike the poor kids with siblings in the Games.

Arty downs the cup of coffee, and finally feels a lot more like a human and a lot less like a human-like puppet.

"So," she offers conversationally - because she's in a good mood for once, good enough to try to reach out to her mother. The same mother who told her to stop liking girls and to get a boyfriend. "What are we gonna do in the two hours we have before the Reapings?"

For some strange, inane reason, Mei instantly looks away, almost looking… guilty? A complete 180 from her original mood. "…You should dress up."

Arty blinks, startled and confused. "What? Why? It's the one year I don't have to be in the pen for the Reapings, which is honestly very much a cause of celebration for me."

Mei looks even more uncomfortable at that. Arty can't help but feel a sense of foreboding. "There's a dress for you behind your door."

"I don't want to wear a dress. I don't need to wear a dress. Why should I prepare for a potential Reaping when there isn't a potential Reaping for me-" Arty stops, as a thought strikes her. "There… is a potential Reaping for me?"

Mei doesn't answer, but they both know it's an agreement by omission.

"But- there's a Quell Twist! Only those of Reaping age with siblings previously in a Games-" Mei doesn't meet her eyes. "-I had a sibling in the Games? Why was I not made aware of this? Why don't I remember them? I mean, even if they were like, seventeen when I was three, why didn't you tell me? And- And with the Quell! I deserved to know as much, mental preparation and all!-"

"Just," Mei cuts in, sounding a lot older than her thirty-nine years. "Go get changed."

Arty stares at her mother in disbelief, then flees to her room.

The dress feels like a lead weight as she puts it on.

* * *

_(A/N: Well, this is a thanks to __Yugi-Smallymcsmall for Violetta, Marie464 for Kennedy, Sunset Artemis for Rowan and __IIJamesII for Arty (quite ironically). Anyway! I am incapable of telling you what character I'm writing next because. Uhm. I'm using a random generator. Yeah! And a quick reminder that **reservations only last a week**. I'm keeping track. And that you don't need reservations to submit a character._

_I would also like to say that I'm nowhere near satisfied with this level of writing. None of them. None of them feel right, so uh, sorry to the submitters?_

_Yay.)_


	6. Die On The Battlefield In Glory

**_Interlude 2: Die On The Battlefield In Glory_**

* * *

**_Owen West  
_****_District 6 Male (148th Games), 15  
_****_Twin brother of Kennedy West_**

* * *

_(Two Years Before the Reapings)_

Owen can feel his heart pounding in his chest. The cold is sinking in, even as he tries to keep himself warm with the small fire he started.

The smoke is rising, and he knows it's an indicator of where he is, but it's okay. He's well prepared enough. The sword - that he stole off of the female from Ten after she died - sits next to him, ready to be wielded against whatever opponent may come. It's a comfortable weight, nicely balanced for him. Almost like it was made for him after he used it in the private sessions. It doesn't matter.

He's amongst the last five tributes, after all. If the smoke attracts the other tributes - all of them Careers and oh god, they're all older and more well trained than him, he might die - he can fight them! He can see them coming and anticipate them!

A cannon goes "BOOM" in the distance.

Well, it appears to be the Final Four now.

Owen can't help but wonder who the unlucky tribute is (he's just glad it's not him), even as he stands up and picks up his sword. Maybe it's one of the pair from District 2? Or maybe it's the male from District 4 who went a little crazy as far as Owen has seen him. Maybe it was the other Kennedy - the District 1 female.

Owen doesn't know how he feels about other-Kennedy's potential death. On one hand, she shares the same name as his sister - is wishing her dead similar to wishing his sister dead? On the other hand, _she shares the same name as his sister_ \- he wouldn't be able to kill her if it came down to it.

There are twin shouts of some level of fighting, so Owen looks up, two figures steadily approaching him from the forest. It must be the pair from District 2. It is, after all, considered taboo to kill your district partner. It's no surprise that they are still allied, even this late into the Games. (So it couldn't have been them who died.)

Then, one of them falls down, almost randomly.

Boom.

Her district partner continues on, limping slightly, probably from some injury. He too, falls down, but there is no cannon. Not yet, at least. Not until another figure emerges from the forest, bow and quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. The newcomer pulls out something, and stabs the remaining tribute from 2.

Boom.

Owen really doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's other-Kennedy. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Four's favoured weapon was, of course, the trident. That made him the fifth place, Two's female as fourth, Two's male as third, leaving him and other Kennedy left to fight for Victory.

He grips his sword a little tighter, but his hands are shaking and it's not from the cold. Of course, other-Kennedy's preference for long-range weapons like the bow and arrow isn't exactly ideal for him, but he can do this! He can do this. He can do this… right?

It's his sister! But not really, because other-Kennedy is standing in the way of him seeing his sister again. But she shares his sister's name and what if Kennedy, back at home, takes this the wrong way? But Kennedy would want him back home. He could run away but the Gamemakers would definitely try to shove them together to achieve the end of the Games. What if-

In his distraction and moral dilemma over whether or not to kill other-Kennedy, Owen never sees her arrow coming.

(It strikes him right in the heart and he falls down, down, down. (Dead.))

* * *

**Owen West, District 6 Male (148th Games), 15  
****2nd Place  
****6 kill(s)  
****(Twin brother of Kennedy West)**

* * *

**Kennedy Faux, District 1 Female (148th Games), 18  
****1st Place  
****5 kill(s)  
****(Victor of the 148th Games, Mentor of the 150th)**

* * *

_(A/N: Uhm. Surprise? Yes. I write these when I can't decide how to write the actual tributes. You have discovered my deepest secret. Oh no. Anyway, welcome to the 148th Games! Or at least 1/3 of it. Yay!_

_Yes, I realise this isn't a character introduction._

_On another note, I'm uh... Preparing for exams. Yes, considering the... situation right now? I understand it sounds ridiculous. No joke (it's not April Fools' yet), I have exams for Chemistry, Philosophy and Literature. School isn't closed, is pretty much progressing as per normal, and that means exams. Oops?)_


	7. Planting Seeds In A Garden

**_Intro 3: Planting Seeds In A Garden_**

* * *

**_Maximillian "Max" Cardisy  
_****_District 6 Male, 15_**

_"People find meaning and redemption in the most unusual human connections."_

* * *

_(Seven Years Before the Reapings)_

Octavia always tells him that he needs to appreciate what he has. She used to use words that she probably thought were too big for him to understand, words like "gratitude" and "cherish" and "respect". Jokes on her, people don't call him a prodigy or genius for nothing.

Still, for all his maturity above his age, he doesn't know how to deal with this situation.

Some things, it seems, need to come from experience. At eight-years-old, it seems to Max that he has far from enough of that.

He had slunk behind his parents when they entered the Goodbye rooms, eyes on the floor, ready to take a dig at his sister. Octavia is, after all, incredibly conceited and overly confident of herself. They might not get along, but he had thought that maybe she would need some facts thrown in her face so as to not do stupid things that would get her killed within five minutes.

He had prepared for someone overconfident, someone who would say with complete certainty that she would return from the Games alive and Victorious. Not… Not whoever this is.

This is not his sister. His sister is snippy and rude and not someone who'd be crying during Goodbyes. He can see it, in his mind's eye - Octavia, proudly proclaiming that she's gonna come back from the Games alive and well, him telling her otherwise, the both of them breaking into an argument, their father stepping in to stop it…

None of that is happening. In fact, none of it seems like it can happen. It feels like a splash of extraordinarily cold water.

"You have to come home," their mother begs her. "You can't die yet!"

"I might not be able to," Octavia says, her hands in their mother's. There are streaks of tears on both their faces. "Th-there's the Careers, and so many older tributes…"

"But you have to try!"

"Kallas," their father tells their mother softly. In the room, big, and punctuated only with Octavia and their mother's sobs, it feels extraordinarily loud. "Don't stress Tavia out too much. We all want her to come home, right?"

At that, his father turns his gaze onto Max. Max shifts uncomfortably, trying to spit some witty retort out, or a piece of encouragement, or even just a simple "yes". He's got nothing, so he just nods his head slightly.

"Just have a strategy," their father continues. "Any strategy is better than none. And listen to your mentor. Learn whatever you can."

"Don't go into the Cornucopia in the beginning," Max blurts out, even as his sister turns to glare at him. "Seventy-nine percent of tributes die in it, and that's including the Careers. Don't end up stupidly dead because you decided to take an unnecessary risk, Octavia."

"Shut up," Octavia says. "What do you know about the Games? You're only eight, Maximillian."

"More than you!" He retorts. It's a simple familiarity, bickering with his sister over simple unimportant things that should really just be clear-cut. "At least I know the statistics! If you go into the Cornucopia at the beginning, you're gonna die! Dead, Octavia! Deader than dead!"

"Watch me!"

It's the last thing that they ever say to each other, before Peacekeepers step in and he is escorted out with the rest of his family.

Julius Bastion stands outside, waiting to be escorted in in place of them, and Max offers him a glare and a cursory once-over. Julius fidgets with a little keychain, and offers the first back at Max. The two of them do not get along, but Julius is Octavia's best friend.

Best friend and Julius do not go well together in Max's mouth or brain. It feels heavy on his tongue because best friend? More like terrible influence. He knows that Julius has stolen from them before. Stolen little trinkets, taught Octavia how to pickpocket and waste her life away doing trivial nonsense like that, stole Octavia away from them. Even if Octavia hadn't gone into the Games, she'd probably be caught by the Peacekeepers one day because she'd done something stupid like stealing, and it'd all be Julius's fault.

Heck, Max has caught Julius stealing some little items before, out of their house. If a seven-year-old can catch him, Peacekeepers are sure to be able to. The only reason he got away in the first place was because Octavia bailed him out. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the keychain was stolen off of someone.

He hopes that he never has to see the bastard again, but he does know something. Julius is more likely to get through to Octavia than him.

"Julius," he says, lagging behind the rest of his family.

"Maximillian," Julius responds, similarly.

"If you could tell Octavia something, that would be nice."

"Why should I?" And that's the clincher, isn't it? Why should Julius help Max - someone who has never approved of his friendship with Octavia?

Max rubs his nose bridge. "My sister and I may not get along, but I don't want her dead. You and I may not get along, but neither of us wants her dead. She's gotten it into her brain that running into the Cornucopia at the beginning of the Games will be a good idea, simply to piss me off. She's not likely to live through that - we all know that. You are way more likely to get that fact through her stubborn head."

"You should have more confidence in your sister," Julius says, then hesitates for a brief moment before nodding. "But fair enough. I'll try to tell her that, but as you said, she's stubborn. She may not listen to me."

"Well, if nothing else," Max scuffs his foot on the ground with a rueful grin. "At least no one can say that we didn't try."

* * *

**_Narkis Xylouris  
_****_District 4 Male, 17_**

_"It's painful, you know. Searching for permanence in a temporary existence."_

* * *

_(Seven Years Before the Reapings)_

"-but I don't really feel like a boy anyway so it doesn't really affect me, y'know?-"

Sure, it's a passing comment, but there's a weight to the words that Narkis just knows is there.

It's kind of given that _he_ has no clue how to react to this, what with the "I'm only ten, why are you telling me first?" thing, and the "I've literally never experienced something like this before, what is it supposed to mean anyway?" thing.

Nestor, if he - she? they? - can even be called that anymore- Wow, this is confusing! Anyway, Nestor shifts uncomfortably and Narkis can tell that his brother - sister, sibling, whatever - is going to take this wrongly if he keeps silent any longer or says the wrong things, but Nestor finds that he has so much he wants to say, yet at the same time, he has absolutely no clue how to say it.

(Why him? It's a nagging question at the back of his mind. _Why not Aunt Lyra or someone else more responsible and with the mental capabilities to understand this?_)

"Why are you telling me this?" Is what he finds himself saying, instead of everything else he wanted to, that probably would have been better to start with. He winces inwardly at how blunt it ends up sounding, how rude and dismissive and disappointing - _oh no_ \- it must seem to Nestor.

_(Sorry, Nestor.)_

He backtracks quickly at the look on Nestor's face. "Not that it's a bad thing, of course, it's just- why me? Why not Naia since she's cool and really nice and sweet and why not Aunt Lyra because she's older and would definitely be much more suited for this conversation than me and she'll know more of what to do and she'll actually be able to help and- _oh god I should probably just shut up before I make things worse-_"

"You're the one I'm most comfortable with," Nestor says, softly, interrupting Narkis's ramble.

And, well, sure, Narkis may not be best equipped for this situation, but if he's the one Nestor came to, then, he decides, that's all there is to it. That's all there needs to be to it.

"Okay," he ends up saying, though he's certain it sounds more doubtful and more like a question. "If that's the case, then okay. Thanks for telling me?" Then, because even he's getting confused in his own mind, "Does this change anything? Like names and um, pronouns? And stuff?"

"No," Narkis says, shaking his head. "Not yet. Maybe later though."

"Okay."

They continue walking back home in relative silence.

"I still think you should tell Aunt Lyra though."

"Hm."

"She's Aunt Lyra - she'll know what to do!"

.-.

_(Three And A Half Years Before the Reapings)_

"I want to volunteer."

"Volunteer for what, sweetie?" Aunt Lyra says, not really focused on the conversation and instead focusing on stirring the vegetables. "Naia, be a dear and help me set the table please?"

"Of course!" Naia says.

"Volunteer for the Games," Nestor, or Nisse, as she is now known as, says with a deadpan, crossing her arms, even as Aunt Lyra nearly knocks over the entire wok in her shock. "What else?"

"But Nisse," Aunt Lyra starts, voice low as she steadies the wok. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because I want to."

"But you could die in the process! The Games are dangerous, Nisse!" Naia pipes in. "Don't you agree, Narkis?"

Narkis startles at being suddenly addressed, then, as all eyes turn to him, he shrugs. "I think it's up to her - not really my choice to make, you know?" Nisse sends him a thankful smile at his response.

In all honesty, to Narkis, it's like the whole "coming out of the closet" thing again, only with a shorter time frame. The last time, it had taken three whole years before Nestor, as she has then been called, had been comfortable enough to come out as Nisse to the rest of their family. If nothing else, Narkis thanks his lucky stars that he only had to hold on to this secret for half a year.

He'd reacted pretty much the same - "Why are you telling me this?" Nisse had responded in kind - "You're the one I'm most comfortable with." And so the situation had died down. Narkis was glad that he, at the very least, had the time to think through and rationalise his sister's plan of action.

He thinks he has it. If Nisse becomes a Victor, she'll have access to wealth and, more importantly, the medical facilities of the Capitol. The medical facilities that will allow her to change not just her gender, but her sex, unlike the less equipped ones in District Four. She'll get her sex-change surgery and whatever other reconstructive surgeries she might want.

Put like that, the seemingly out-of-the-blue idea seems a lot more in-depth. Narkis trusts that Nisse has spent a lot of time on this decision. He trusts that she knows what she's doing.

"I have my reasons," Nisse says. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you really?" Aunt Lyra shoots back. "You're barely even seventeen!"

"Well, it's the last year I'll be able to volunteer!"

"Narkis! Tell your sister that this is a terrible idea!"

Narkis blinks. "I can't do that. I just have to trust that she's weighed the pros and cons of her decision out. She's old enough to make her own decisions."

Aunt Lyra turns away at that, but Narkis swears he hears her say "That's an awful lot of trust you're placing on her."

Truth is, even Narkis doesn't know if that trust is rightfully placed.

* * *

**_Eureka Vesuvio  
_****_District 1 Male, 15_**

_"It's only arrogance if I'm wrong."_

* * *

_(Two Weeks Before the Reapings)_

The letter in his hand looks the same as any other letter from the academy. It's pure white, with the academy's crest and motto at the top left corner, his name and address written in cursive at the center and a stamp at the top right corner.

The feel of smooth paper, well, feels like it's burning his skin.

Which is stupid, because he has no reason to be nervous, none at all! He's one of the best that the academy has to offer, and if this Quell is what it takes for the rest of the District - for the rest of Panem - to see it, then so be it!

Eureka grasps the letter tighter, and it crumples in his grasp. He lets his grip relax, the paper envelope still maintaining the wrinkles. He doesn't know what he's doing - the letter does not deserve his nerves and this mistreatment.

So he calms himself, pushes them down and turns the envelope over in his hands. His fingers find the gap under the seal, and he rips the flap off. Quickly, like a bandaid.

His eyes scan the letter quickly, like he doesn't know the results. Like Head Trainer Zircon didn't call him into his office the very day the Quell was announced to tell him that he was the oldest potential volunteer with a sibling in the Games. (He's proud of that, anyway.)

There's the typical paragraph about the Games, then the atypical one of the Quell. The Quell, the same one that tilted the volunteer odds in his favour.

Eureka does not know his sister. Eureka does not ever remember knowing his sister. Eureka was three when she died, Eureka does not have his own opinion of her and Eureka is thankful that she was as good as their parents claim - so good that she was the chosen volunteer of her Games.

Her legacy is, after all, the reason behind his selection as youngest volunteer.

Sure, he's only fifteen. Sure, he's probably not the original first choice (though he likes to think he would've been).

Still, he's confident enough in his abilities.

He knows what he's doing, he tells himself - has told himself for years - as he strides through the halls of the academy.

Most other siblings of tributes, especially if they've died, kinda just refuse to take part in the Games. There are a select few who continue to train, who strive to do better than their siblings. Eureka is not like other people - he's not affected by Nadira's death, he's not doing this for Nadira. Sure, Nadira may have left behind a legacy that helped him get where he is, but it's mostly his doing.

It doesn't matter that Nadira was the one who got second in her Games - second is as dead as twenty-fourth. Sure, that means she got more screen time, and it definitely helps his case - will help as well, in future - but she's dead. Deader than a doorknob.

And he?

Well, Eureka sure isn't dead yet, and he sure isn't going to be any time soon.

(Eureka Vesuvio, you are the selected volunteer for the 150th Annual Hunger Games. Congratulations and good luck for the Games ahead of you.)

.-.

_(One Week Before the Reapings)_

The video clip ends. Eureka grabs the remote control and fiddles with it, rewinding it again.

He watches as the highlight reel of the 138th Games - watches as Nadira, in the final two along with Apollo Corvi of District Two, engages in close-quarter combat. Nadira with her knife, Apollo with his sword.

If nothing else, he admits, Nadira was good with a bow.

Still, it's a pity her final battle had to be one with close combat, one with her bow knocked out of her hands and kicked further away in the scuffle. Nadira's death is swift - a clean slice across the neck is all it takes to end her Games, crowning the Victor.

The video clip ends.

This time, Eureka doesn't make a move to rewind it, unlike the nine or so times before. Instead, he muses over who will likely be his district partner.

It seems that this year, the academy doesn't have much to offer on the side of the female tributes, because his district partner is Miracle Weston. Everyone knows Miracle Weston, even if only just due to the miracle that is the past six months. Her brother died in the Games, so she stopped training. Yet with the Quell, she rejoined the academy and trained desperately. Somehow, somehow, she managed to get the volunteer spot despite only having trained for a year (before she quit the first time) and six months (after the Quell announcement).

Her sudden rise to the occasion is interesting, if nothing else. Eureka supposes that she should be a threat, what with her being the selected volunteer and all, but not much of one. He's trained for eight years. Eight! He's dedicated his life to the Games! Miracle's miracle of being selected as the selected volunteer in one and a half is nothing next to that.

It's a known fact that Kennedy Faux and Kieran Gold will most likely be the mentors for One this year, in which case Eureka feels quite confident. Both Victors were good Careers, and their - or at least, Kieran's, since this will only be Kennedy's second year - strategies appear to have worked out pretty well for the tributes of Two.

Eureka quite likes his odds.

On a similar note, the rumour mill has it that Apollo Corvi will be the mentor for Two this year as well, a counterbalance for the weird Pandora Striker, who somehow entered the Games at fourteen, wasn't a trained Career, yet somehow won her Games. He wonders what the two tributes from Two will be like.

Then he doesn't.

For all that the Career alliance is important, Eureka is sure that he'll be able to manage alone.

* * *

**_Sita Kulkarni  
_****_District 9 Female, 14_**

_"I trust my books—some days, they're all that I have."_

* * *

_(Four Years Before the Reapings)_

It is something out of a fairytale ending.

The odds of a random tribute from Nine winning the Games? Especially with the Careers and all that? Low.

Everyone in Nine knows that.

The odds of a random, pregnant, unmarried, sixteen-year-old tribute from Nine winning the Games? Even without adding in the factor of the Careers? Incredibly low.

Everyone in Sita's family knows that. They've gone over the odds many many times in the past two to three weeks, using big words that Sita knows that they don't expect her to know. The joke is on them; Sita has spent quite a bit of time in the past three years in Mr Phelp's bookshop, after all. What do they think she spends her time there doing, if not reading books?

Back to the odds.

Yet somehow, against all odds, Uma managed it.

Uma Kulkarni, newly returned from the 146th Annual Hunger Games, seems to still be in a daze. Sita supposes it must be quite a change, from the peace of District Nine to the bustle of the Capitol, to the stress of the Games, back to the Capitol, then back to Nine.

Sita isn't quite sure what this means, because the stories never talk about what happens after the end, just a beautiful picture with a hopeful future. She's never been close to her sister, but she's certain that their picture, if it were a story, is beautiful, with a hopeful future. She doesn't know what's coming next - no one does - but it's going to be good.

It has to be good.

There's only so much more life can throw at them, after all.

Still, daze or not, something about Uma seems… off.

Maybe it's something in her laugh and smile. Maybe it's the way she's clinging to her boyfriend-turned-fiancé, Efraim. Maybe it's the way she's barely talking about her child - fourteen-going-fifteen weeks along.

The baby had been a point of (argument) conversation within the family before the Games, but not to this extent. Whatever's going on, this is not the same Uma that Sita attempted tor each out to, to repair her relationship with, even if just mainly her own jealousy. Sita doesn't quite understand why a trip of fewer than three weeks had such a great impact on her sister, but there's an observable impact all the same.

"How about Cyrus if they're a boy?" Efraim offers softly and Sita just knows that this conversation isn't meant for her ears. "And Zarina if they're a girl?"

Sita isn't shocked to hear Uma start sobbing. She knows those names - everyone in their family does, if not most of the district - those were the names of Uma's allies in the Games. Cyrus Campbell of Nine and Zarina Witherspoon of Ten both sacrificed themselves to keep her sister and her niece alive.

"That sounds perfect, 'fraim," Sita hears Uma says, and just like that, she's certain that everything is going to be okay.

.-.

_(Two Years Before the Reapings)_

_(Trigger Warning: Suicide)_

It used to be something out of a fairytale ending.

Or maybe it still is. After all, no one ever talks about what happens after the "happily ever after". For all Sita knows, this could be it.

Because, fairytale endings never talk about the screaming, the yelling, the niece that no one visits. Fairytale endings never talk about the pain of surviving in spite of everyone else around her dying. Fairytale endings never talk about finding her sister, lying in her room, in their shared but technically Uma's house in the Victors' Village, limp, no pulse, not breathing, an empty pill bottle next to her. Fairytale endings never talk about the hush-up, the officials, the (hush) consolation money paid to keep her sister's (suicide) death out of public knowledge. Fairytale endings never talk about their (forced, for some people) grief, her father's hushed-up protests, her family's hidden shame, her family breaking apart.

Fairytale endings, Sita has learnt, never talk about anything of remotely any importance.

Even outside of fairytales, it seems no one talks about the impacts of the Games - not just on the families that break apart because of the death, but also those that break apart because the tribute coming home from the arena isn't the same as the one who left home for the arena.

"If she hadn't been bringing shame to the family," Sita hears her mother say and feels anger burn through her. "She wouldn't have ended up like this."

Her father opens his mouth to speak, but is shut down almost instantly by a glare from her mother. The burning anger flares up, but she pushes it down.

Sita will never tell anyone about how she feels about this, will never allow herself to feel like this. She can't, not if she wants them to feel good, or at the very least, better. She has to be calm and attentive and positive, or people might never trust that part of her. She's the youngest one, the quietest one, the one that people approach to rant or just talk.

She can't let that go.

She's not allowed to fall apart, not ever and especially not now.

Not when everyone around her has problems to sort through and in need of someone to talk to.

And, well, Sita does have a list of problems, but she does suppose that one of them is that she's never been able to say no.

* * *

_(A/N: __Thank you to Manny Siliezar for Max, symphorophilia for Narkis, jimster920 for Eureka and AdoptedOrphanSmile for Sita! And also this was... two days late. We're stuck at home now, which kinda makes it harder to write, honestly. I have a 3 pm computer curfew now. _

_On a side note, welcome to the halfway mark of the introductions and also the existence of a full cast! Any opinions on how long the first twelve introduced tributes will last, or something along those lines?_

_This is also the chapter that I feel has a bunch of musical references.)_


End file.
